


Everybody Knows

by fearnotthedemons



Category: Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010), Red Hood: Lost Days
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Murder Mystery, i promise i'll add better tags later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26012032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearnotthedemons/pseuds/fearnotthedemons
Summary: Gotham City is swept up in series of chilling murders, each seemingly unrelated to the next except for a bat-shaped brand burned on the body of every victim. The question that sits on everyone's lips, whispered in alleyways, murmured at home, and screened on national television is singular: Has Batman started killing the very citizens he once protected?An up-and-coming journalist known simply as Lewis sets out to get to answer just that. To get at the heart of this labyrinthine mystery she must overcome loss, personal bias, the dangers inherent to digging too deeply into Gotham's affairs, and a strange neighbor who seems determined not to let her get a good night's sleep.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. A Nightmare of Metal and Stone

**Author's Note:**

> Tags/warnings will be added as the story progresses! Also I'll hopefully make the summary less bad at some point.

“You got it?” the kid asked, paler and skinnier than the last time Remy had seen her. Her bloodshot eyes darted around the abandoned parking lot as she spoke, never landing on his for more than a brief, paranoid second.

“You know how this works, pretty thing,” he said, wagging a finger in mock scolding. “Show me my money and I’ll getcha all fixed up.” 

Shoving a trembling hand deep into her hoodie pocket, she revealed a fist of crumpled bills. Remy flashed her the heroin he’d promised from the inside of his jacket and a smile as greasy as his slicked back hair.

The exchange was quick; her shaky fingers snatched the bag from him as soon as it was within reach. She left just as quickly, already pulling out the syringe from her other pocket while her shifty eyes stared unblinking at shapes lurking in the shadows. 

Remy didn’t bother to watch beyond that. The kids he dealt with were all the same: desperate. They didn’t just want another fix, they  _ needed  _ it, and before he started to work the area he’d made damn sure that he was the only one who could give it to them. A little over a thousand dollars in cash was the day’s result of his monopoly on this niche market. He’d had better days, but it was still a hell of a lot more than he would have made otherwise; Cobblepot was a cheapskate when it came to henchmen like him. 

The parking garage he left his car in wasn’t too far away, only a block or so, but Remy was careful to shove his earnings down the front of his pants and make the outline of his gun just a little clearer through his jacket anyway. He knew firsthand what the bottom-feeders of Gotham City were willing to do for money - he was one of them. Besides, caution had gotten him this far. If Penguin knew he was dealing on the side, he would be dead for sure. Henchmen like him were easily disposed of and just as easily replaced.

Maybe it was that thought that kept his eyes glancing furtively around every corner and into every shadow. The weight of unseen eyes dragged him down, almost rooting him to the spot when he finally entered the parking garage. 

He peered cautiously around, hand pressed against the comforting outline of his gun, but there was nothing. It was late, and he was jumpy. That was all. Better jumpy than dead. He shook his head at his own stupidity and went to unlock the car, glancing up at his reflection in the tint of the driver’s side window--

He barely had a second to register the figure in the red helmet standing behind him before the bullet went through his head. He was dead before his ears registered the gunshot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just the prologue, but I hope it's enough to get people interested! Batman vs. Superman was a huge disappointment to me for many reasons, but when I saw the bat brand that Bruce used it really got me thinking. It didn't feel like a Bruce move at all, but I knew a morally grey vigilante who also frequented Gotham that would totally do something like that, so I started turning it into a fic. The title is based off of Sigrid's song by the same name because the vibes were on point but again the movie didn't utilize it like they could have. Smh @ all these sexy concepts going to waste! I'm also featuring a bunch of original characters because it's 2020 and I can have one (1) self-indulgent project, as a treat. 
> 
> I'm still not entirely sure how well the lighthearted bits will mesh with the more serious stuff, but I'm hoping to pull it off. First chapter should be up later today or early tomorrow. The one after that? Who can say ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Comments/kudos much appreciated!!


	2. The Journalist

_“--twenty-seven-year-old Remington Jones was an employee at Oswald Cobblepot’s Iceberg Lounge until he was killed last night by a single gunshot at close range. Jones’ body was recovered by authorities this morning in an East End parking garage and it is rumored that illegal drugs were found on his person and inside his parked vehicle, which had not been broken into. But perhaps the most shocking evidence is not the murder or untouched narcotics, but the clue the killer left behind; a bat-shaped brand on the victim’s neck--”_

Lewis immediately sat up from her slumped position on the couch, dislodging the massive shepherd from his place at her side. Maverick gave a pitiful whine, but she just shushed him, eyes glued to the television as pictures of the brand flashed on screen.

It was bigger than she thought it would be, prominently placed so that it had to have been one of the first things the police noticed. The mark was ugly, too, fleshy pink and puckered from fresh scarring. She wrinkled her nose at the thought and pulled a pen from her blonde messy bun, already scribbling notes onto the palm of her hand and down her forearm as the news anchor continued her coverage of the murder. _Gotham News at Nine_ had never been so exciting. In fact, _Gotham News at Nine_ had never been exciting at all until just now.

Pulling her phone out, Lewis dialed the newspaper’s number as fast as she could. 

“ _Gotham Gazette_ , this is--”

“Elmer, are you seeing this?” she interrupted. “A _bat brand_ on the victim’s neck? In _Gotham City_?”

“Would it kill you to say ‘hello’, Lewis?” her boss, Elmer Matherly, sighed irritably. “Just once I’d like to answer your calls without worrying about losing my hearing.”

“You have to let me write this. I’ll be on the scene in fifteen, I just need your okay--”

“Lewis, it’s your day off.”

“I’ll work today and take a different one off so you’re not paying overtime or whatever. C’mon, Elm, Detective Hughes is on this case and you know I’m the only journalist she’ll give the time of day to,” she insisted, voice pleading. 

“I know. And there’s no stopping you now, anyways - I know that tone of voice.” Elmer let out another long-suffering sigh. “At least you’ll be better than Carter. Last time I gave him a murder he threw up all over the crime scene.”  
  


“I won’t let you down,” Lewis said, already peeling off the grease-stained sweatpants and oversized hoodie she had been wearing and searching for something a little more professional.

“You’d better not,” Elmer warned before hanging up, but Lewis wasn’t listening anymore.

Instead, she was searching through the mounds of laundry in her room - clean and dirty - for a blouse that would match the blazer and pants she’d managed to locate in the last thirty seconds. Maverick helpfully nosed his way through the mess, barking when he found one he liked (though those tended to be the ones that smelled the worst).

“Thanks bud, but I think I got this,” she told him with an affectionate scritch behind the ear, eyeing a yellow shirt she’d found critically. It would have to work. 

She made it to the crime scene in record time, applying mascara in her rearview mirror even as she pulled in. She flashed her press badge at the policeman standing nearest, still pulling her flats on as he directed her to the woman in charge. 

“Detective Hughes, how’s your day going?” Lewis said with a wry grin, holding a hand out to shake. Detective Hughes did not look half so amused. She stood with her arms folded, kinky, grey-streaked hair just barely brushing the shoulders of the simple blazer that did nothing to hide her impressively muscular build. 

“Why is it I always find you skulking around my crime scenes?” she scowled, shaking Lewis’ outstretched hand. “What do you want this time?”

“I want you to tell me if Batman did this, for starters.” 

Hughes sighed, running a hand over her face. “You know I can’t do that yet. Nobody on my crew - nobody I _trust_ on my crew - wants to call down a manhunt on Batman, but to rule him out at this point is shitty police-work, plain and simple.” 

“The press are already having a field day with this - myself included. You got any leads other’n that brand?”

Detective Hughes pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “Look, Lewis, you’re not a bad kid, but you know I can’t give out information like that. The only reason you’re even allowed on the scene is out of respect for your brother’s memory.”

“Don’t talk to me about his memory.” The words flew out of Lewis’ mouth before she could stop them, sharp and hard and utterly in opposition of the friendly demeanor she’d had seconds before.

There was a beat of tense silence.

“My forensics guy will give you a walk-around of the scene,” Detective Hughes offered. It wasn’t an apology, but her expression had gone soft at the edges. “Try not to poke around too much until he gets here.” 

“No promises.”

Detective Hughes didn’t say anything more, instead gesturing past the yellow tape surrounding the parking garage towards where her forensics expert would be. Lewis left with a hasty wave.

It had been a year now since Officer Alexander Lewis of the Gotham City Police Department was killed in action, but it still hurt every time someone brought him up. The medals Lewis had sitting in a bedside table drawer were as cold and lifeless as the body she’d buried, shrouded in red white and blue, and she resented them as much as she did everyone’s insistence on telling her what a hero Alex had been. 

She knew that her brother died a hero. But she also knew that he lived as one, too, and if Batman had done his job he would still be alive to continue sharing that heroism with the world. She could understand Elmer’s hesitation to put her on a case like this, but after a year of chasing leads this was exactly the break she’d been waiting for. Even the Pulitzer-winning editor of the _Gotham Gazette_ couldn’t get between her and a story. A smirk tugged at her lips at the thought. She owed Elmer a good bottle of red for the headache she was surely causing him. 

Bringing herself back to reality, Lewis realized that Detective Hughs’ forensics guy was nowhere in sight. It was the perfect opportunity to snoop.

Nippy March air had nothing to do with the chill down her spine as she took in the otherwise shiny car spattered with blood and brain matter. An impersonal yellow marker beside it stood where Remington Jones’ body had been found that morning. The reports never said who had called the body in, but it had to have been one of the recently homeless; desperate enough to be hiding in empty parking garages but not so disillusioned that they wouldn’t call the police. She would have to track them down, preferably before the GCPD scared them into silence… 

“Enjoying the view, Ms. Lewis?” an unfamiliar voice called, startling her from her musings. 

She whipped her head around to face its owner, a sharp, thin man in his early forties with meticulously combed hair and dark-framed glasses. His steps were measured and even, and his shirt looked as though it had been tucked and pressed by a professional.

“Evan Kowalski,” he introduced, holding out a firm hand to shake. “Detective Hughes requested that I show you around and explain the situation from a forensic point of view.”

“Lead the way,” Lewis said, gesturing widely across the murder scene before them. 

Evan gave a curt nod and snapped on a pair of clean plastic gloves before leading her right to the spot Remington Jones died. The closer they got, the stronger the smell of iron became. Evan held out a hand to stop her before she got too close or stepped in any evidence and pulled out a plastic bag full of photos.

“As you can see, Mr. Jones was shot in the head - the back of the head, specifically. From this we must conclude that his killer moved the body after shooting him, posing him against the side of his vehicle like so,” he explained, motioning towards the shot of Jones’ body positioned against his newer model of Mercedes. “This was, presumably, to place the brand on his neck and ensure that police would find it almost immediately. The bullet is undergoing testing, but I am permitted to tell you that it seems unlikely we will be able to trace it.” 

“What else can you give me?” she asked, brows furrowed as she scribbled shorthand in her notes. “On the record or off.”

“On the record, we have few concrete pieces of evidence, but they _are_ enough to begin profiling the person behind this,” he said carefully. He then adjusted his glasses and looked directly up at her. “Off the record, this killer is calculated, practiced, and has extensive resources. Batman fits many of these descriptors, but so do countless others within and without Gotham City. When you pursue this matter further, pursue it with the utmost caution, Ms. Lewis. I would hate to find you on the wrong side of a crime scene.”

She smiled faintly at his grim concern. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. In the meantime, can you direct me to the morgue?”

***

The city morgue was one of the few buildings original to Gotham that was still standing. Almost everything else had fallen victim to bureaucracy, time, or collateral damage, making it easy to spot among the more modern additions in town. If the carefully preserved stones that made up its face didn’t give it away, the gargoyles leering from the roof certainly would have.

Lewis squared her shoulders beneath their stony gaze as she walked through the doors to the front desk. Before the receptionist could ask why she was there, she flashed her press badge and a quick smile.

“Hello, sir, I’m here to see Remington Jones’ body? Detective Hughes sent me.”

“Oh,” the man behind the desk said, pushing his round glasses up the bridge of his nose with a slow blink. “Um, would you like to take a seat? Someone will be out to meet you shortly.”

“I can walk myself back, it’s really no trouble--”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we both know that’s not allowed.”

She sighed. “Right.” 

Faux leather squished uncomfortably beneath her as she took a seat and grabbed one of the magazines sitting in the waiting area. Bruce Wayne smiled dazzlingly at her from the cover page and Lewis had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes. The man had poured a lot of his money into charity and the betterment of Gotham City, it was true, but there was something so _fake_ about him. 

His interview was on page eight ( _Bruce Wayne Reveals All!_ ), and she couldn’t stop the contemptive twist to her lips as she read through. There were the usual invasive questions about his love life ( _“Yes, I’m still single,” he says with a chuckle. Good news, ladies!_ ), but this interviewer apparently had a political agenda as well. For her final question she asked him how he felt about Gotham’s iconic hero, Batman. Wayne gave one of those non-answers people from old money were especially good at, but the interviewer still spent the rest of the article praising the work he and his costumed counterparts had done for the city. As if Batman had ever done enough for the city - or its people. 

Lewis closed her eyes and let a slow breath out, smoothing the crinkles in the page from her clenched fists. She placed the magazine back on the table carefully and settled in to wait some more, scrolling through pages of new collars to buy Maverick instead, until at last someone emerged from the back of the morgue.

“Ms. Lewis?” the woman asked, smoothing down the front of her lab coat. “My name is Dr. Alice Lee. If you’ll follow me…”

Lewis got up and offered a quick handshake before following her back to see the cadaver. “You get many visitors here?” she asked as they walked.

“Law-enforcement officers, grieving next of kin, and you,” Dr. Lee said. “We don’t usually deal with journalists so soon or so closely, but Evan Kowalski called ahead and said you might show up.”

“Really?”

Dr. Lee flashed a smile behind her. “He had very complimentary things to say about you. Usually he hates the press.”

“I’ll try to live up to my good reputation.” Lewis usually got pegged as ‘the nosy journalist’, a descriptor that wasn’t entirely inaccurate, so Evan’s reaction was a pleasant surprise. 

Dr. Lee led Lewis though identical white-tiled halls that all smelled of disinfectant and formaldehyde, until finally they came to a large set of double doors. Behind them, the body was already laid out on a table. Lewis felt her eyes widen as Dr. Lee pulled back the thin sheet lying over top of him. 

Remington Jones had been an average man, a little extra pudge in his stomach but not unfit. His spray-tanned skin had a strange and sickly post-mortem pallor to it, which made the tattoos that ran across his chest and down his arms stand out. There were a few names crossed out or badly covered, presumably belonging to ex-girlfriends. The rest were either animals or crosses or barbed wire, often combined in increasingly creative ways.

But what really stood out was the brand on his neck, even more chilling up close, and the gunshot wound to his head that was now uncomfortably sterile and clean.

“Evan said something about the brand being made after Jones was already dead. Do you know if that’s true?” Lewis asked, staring at the singed flesh in fascination.

“We haven’t gotten the results back on that yet, but it seems highly probable. Evan is the best forensic specialist I’ve ever worked with. The science almost always backs him up,” Dr. Lee said. 

Lewis tilted her head at the body. “And what can you tell me about the gunshot wound?”

“He was shot in the back of the head at point-blank range, as I’m sure you can tell - he’s got one hell of an exit wound. The soot and burn marks around the entry wound indicate the firearm used was a .22 caliber shotgun. There’s enough structural and tissue damage that he would have been difficult to ID if not for his tattoos.”

“Do any of the tattoos mean something that you’re aware of?” Lewis asked. “Gang affiliations, et cetera?” 

“We see this one on a lot of Cobblepot’s guys,” Dr. Lee said, pointing to the penguin inked on his right wrist. “Other than that it’s just the usual 27-year-old-working-at-a-club tattoos, at least as far as I can tell.”

Lewis marked down a note on her pad and nodded. “I assume I’m not allowed to take pictures?”

“Nope.”

“Just checking,” she said, making sure to draw as close a likeness of his tattoo as she could. “I think that’s everything I need. Thank you so much for your time, Doctor.”

One million and one ideas swirled through Lewis’ head as she walked out of the morgue. A killer on the loose was nothing new in Gotham City, but this was strange on a whole new level. She had a sinking feeling it would only get stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the final "set-up" one, and then we're on to bigger and better things - Let me know what you think so far!
> 
> As always, comments/kudos greatly appreciated :)


End file.
